


Some Rules Were Made to Be Rewritten

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Chuck is God, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Angst, Destiel Fluff, Fluff, Kevin is alive, M/M, SPN - Freeform, anna is a shipper, which is pretty awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angel Castiel spent millennia as a soldier, a warrior in God's great battles. But when he met Dean Winchester, things began to unravel. He learned to become more human than angel, and eventually confronted his feelings for the Righteous Man. Here, you'll find an amazing amount of meta about angels, plenty of angst, pining, and self-loathing in Kansas, and the beautiful way Castiel looks at the world.<br/>(Set somewhere in season 8, near the end).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now (And In The Beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> My (very belated) birthday fic for mundanecas. I hope you're doing amazing, and that today is a good day.  
> UAs (Universe Alterations) for this chapter: Cas fights alone with Dean on a hunt (Sam is idk where at this point in time) and Cas goes to and stays in the bunker.

Castiel had always been in love with Dean Winchester.

Unfortunately, it just happened to be during one of their combats with a vampire that Castiel realized just how absolutely head over heels he was for the hunter. 

The creature had managed to slice the left side of his ribcage when he was caught off guard; it was a moment that Castiel was not proud of and something for which he cursed himself almost instantly. He healed his wound swiftly and continued to assist Dean, but the other man had seen the almost imperceptible leak of Cas's grace and turned on the vampire with renewed vigor. In one sinuous movement, Dean had twisted and swung the heavy, awkward machete with the elegance and precision of a Russian ballerina (Dean probably wouldn't like the comparison) in one long stroke that neatly sliced its head off. Dean had stood panting, bloodstains on his clothing and dirt smudged across his freckles. For a moment, his eyes glowed with the fire that lit him in battle, and Castiel was suddenly struck by him as powerfully as if his Father had launched a bolt of lighting from the Heavens. 

Dean Winchester, his first love and his last. The Righteous Man, the brave little tin soldier who had broken his mold much as Cas himself had, the soul that had been such a strong beacon of light in hell, even coated with the grayish dust of sin and marred with the rips that represented trials in life. Castiel had allowed himself to think of Dean's soul then, red as the roses in an autistic man's garden in heaven and almost painfully bright. However flawed it had been then and was now, he had seen its power from the beginning. 

Hester had been right; the moment he had laid a hand on Dean's soul in hell, he had been lost. Touching a soul like that -- it was dangerous. Fatal, even. Many of the angels in his garrison had believed that he would not survive it and had warned him of their concerns. But in those days, when he was tasked with a mission, he had been determined to carry it out no matter what it was. God had called him for the purpose of removing the elder Winchester from hell, and he would have done anything and everything to make that happen. He had done anything and everything to fulfill that mission. 

Dean's soul, however, had been nothing like he had expected. (Then again, Dean never exactly conformed to expectations). When Castiel finally found him, he was twisting a knife into a middle-aged woman's abdomen and _grinning_. Castiel had turned to Uriel, about to question if they truly had the correct man, but then he had caught sight of Dean's soul. Something like a quiet _oh_ had escaped him. 

It was so _raw_ , open, and real. All that Castiel had ever encountered up to that point were the souls of angels and devout men and women who prayed for them to appear. Angelic souls tended to be either blue, white, or some combination of the two, symbolizing purity, strength and wisdom. Castiel had met only a few angels who had more exotically shaded souls -- Gabriel's was gold and Lucifer's was jet black. For the most part, an angel's spirit matched the color of his or her wings, but it was still a very personal thing to look upon it. Gabriel had cheerfully allowed Castiel to see his soul when Castiel was still a curious fledgling, and Lucifer's soul had been exposed during his fall. The other angelic spirits Castiel had seen in a variety of situations, mostly in the midst of battle. 

The human souls whose prayers warranted the personal visits of angels, such as Elijah or another of the prophets, typically fell somewhere along the blue to white spectrum as well, with the occasional brown for the humbler ones and pink for those who were more caring. If Gabriel was correct, the Virgin Mary's soul had been one of the pink ones. 

The soul of Dean Winchester was a fiery, passionate crimson, a quick burn that started out hot and only grew hotter. Castiel could see the capacity for black evil woven through the red strands of essence that made up Dean's spirit, but he could also see that Dean Winchester deserved to be saved. Maybe it was the thin threads of blue loyalty and strength that flickered in and out of the warp and woof of his soul, or perhaps the slightest trace of white purity that still glowed beneath the ashes of sin, but Cas had _known_ that this was the Righteous Man instantly. He had clamped down onto Dean's shoulder tightly, encountering none of the vicious pain and hatred he had expected, but rather a sense of enormous relief and weak gratefulness. Then Castiel had snapped out his wings. 

The demons below them had quaked with fear as Castiel gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition with three flaps of his massive black wings. As they had agreed previously, Uriel and the other members of their garrison had remained in hell to fight their own way out in order to give Castiel time to free Dean. He vaguely remembered screaming, "Dean Winchester has been saved!" 

His time rebuilding Dean's body wasn't something that he liked to remember very much, for the most part because it hurt to remember wandering forests to find the exact shade of Dean's eyes and sifting through a thousand layers of rock to pick out the color of his skin. 

Castiel knew that the mission was supposed to be a simple retrieval and release situation after he had put together the body, but he couldn't seem to leave Dean's gravesite immediately. Instead of returning to heaven as he was supposed to, he had stood by the clumsy cross and watched as Dean's soul began to settle back into his body. It was shivery cold, uncomfortable, and dirty at the grave. But he had stayed. Now, Castiel knew that what he had been beginning to feel that day. 

He supposed that he had first fallen in love with Dean's soul before ever actually meeting the man. 

"Cas? You okay, buddy?" Dean's voice brought Cas back to the present, and he blinked a few times. 

"Yes, Dean, I am fine," he said. Dean's eyes narrowed briefly in worry, and Castiel took a second to love Dean's brows and the way they came together with concern for him, then brushed the feelings away roughly. 

"Come on, man, let's get you back to the motel," Dean said, walking over to Cas with a slight grunt of pain. "I saw you get sliced open back there. You need to rest." Dean slung Cas's arm over his shoulders, and they hobbled back to the Impala. As Cas stepped carefully into the backseat and Dean slammed the door shut before moving to the driver's door, Castiel slipped back into memories. 

When he had first begun his...it wouldn't have been called a friendship at first, Castiel reflected. When he had first partnered with Sam and Dean, he had thought their devotion to each other to be rather interesting. Although angels formed deep bonds with each other, the sheer power of what Sam and Dean had astounded him. They had lied to each other, betrayed each other, even killed each other, and yet they still loved and supported one another. 

Castiel had dreamed that one day someone might love him like that. 

Castiel knew that, by the specific word of God, angels were not permitted liaisons with humanity. In fact, killing a Nephilim (a creature born of an angel/human pairing) had been one of his very first missions as a fully grown angel. He had just finished training when Inias swept into the room and commanded him to follow. Dutifully, Castiel had gone after him down a long hallway toward the gates of heaven, and Inias had told him that one of the angels had impregnated a human and it was their task to eliminate the child. Castiel had never learned who had fathered it, and at the time it had not mattered. They had descended to a tiny copse of trees beside a flowing brook where the child was sleeping. He remembered looking around and marveling at the miracle of God's creation and the incredible power that allowed this small spot of lush nature to thrive in the midst of a cruel, barren desert. Then Inias had manifested his angel blade and handed it to Castiel, saying, "Strike now. It is kinder this way." Castiel had taken the blade slowly, feeling the cold metal burn against his palm, and looked down at the child. She was so _small_ , barely three years old, and her mother was drawing water further down the stream. Castiel had felt a flash of guilt that began to claw at his insides. He had dropped the blade and bowed his head in shame. 

"Inias..I cannot," he had said, noting a thousand little details of the child's body as he gazed at her -- long lashes, rough and tanned skin, curling toes, little hands that had already been through too much.

Emotions warred within him as Inias took the blade and said, "Many angels feel fear on their first mission, Castiel. It will grow easier," then plunged the knife into the child's side. Her eyes flew open and her mouth parted slightly, but she died without a sound. Castiel stood in silence and met her deep brown eyes as her blood seeped into the sand. 

He realized now that it had never grown easier, although he had killed thousands more since the little girl. After Naomi, old memories that had been buried before had begun to resurface. Castiel remembered years-long "therapy" sessions in which he was told over and over again that anything a superior angel said was a monster, including Nephilim, was a monster, until the words were burned into his soul. Knives and pain twisting into the neuron pathways of his brain had cemented the lesson even further. 

Now? He simply didn't know anymore. He was relearning the world through the eyes of a human, although he still had the power of an angel, and basing his choices off what he witnessed rather than what he was told. But that one lesson _(do not fall in love with humanity)_ had stayed with him. The way angels looked at those who had stooped so low as to know a woman, the casually derogatory insults that fell easily from gossipy lips, the children who died for the iniquity of angels with humans, the fact that even God had told angels not to interact with humans in that way ... it all added up to doubt and fear and even more shame on Castiel's part. Even after all he had done, he clung to the very last rule, the only one that he had not yet broken, and held it up as proof that he was still an angel even at his lowest point. He was still an angel, because he had never had sexual or romantic relations with a human. Perhaps not a very good angel, but an angel nonetheless. 

But then there was Dean, and some days Castiel thought falling from grace for Dean would be worth it. 

Dean, besieged by doubt about the apocalypse, afraid for his brother and for himself, frightened that he would give in, agree to Michael, and rip the world apart. Dean, watching the people he loved burn and die and fall, and holding on somehow through it all. Dean, filled with self-hatred and shame, aching for an end but fighting on and on. Castiel, doing his best to support Dean while being forced to slay his brethren in heaven and on earth. 

Dean in Purgatory, all blood, dirt and scars, caveman-like blade at his side and primal power running through his limbs. Dean slaughtering monsters and fighting for his life while what passed for the sun shone weakly through the trees and battling even harder when it fell beneath the horizon. Dean, barely sleeping for more than a few hours and spending at least one of those precious units of time each night praying to Castiel, begging for him to come back. Castiel, longing to join Dean but restraining himself, knowing that if he gave in to his own wishes, Dean could die. The way it felt to fight alongside Dean once more, angelic power and hunter instincts blending to form the perfect combination, and monsters falling like dominoes before them. 

Dean on his best days, in the best moments. Dean with the shifter child, protective and loving despite the fact that the child itself could grow up to be a monster. Dean being geeky and getting excited about things that Cas didn't understand, like Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones and LARPing. Dean, running his hands along the obsidian sides of his Impala, his baby, admiring her in a way that was simultaneously casual and deadly serious. Dean, classic rock blaring in the background, his fingers tapping out the beat on the steering wheel of the Impala, singing loudly and badly. 

Dean, who would never return his affection. Dean, who loved women and their curves and who perhaps did not even love Castiel as a brother. Dean, who was prohibited in every sense of the word, forbidden by God and man and heaven and earth. 

Bile rose in the back of Castiel's throat, and he tapped the back of Dean's seat gently. "Would you roll down the window, Dean?"

Dean glanced back at him in the mirror. "Sure, Cas, no problem." He took one hand off the wheel to use the window crank, and Cas longed to tell him to _slow down, Dean. If we crash, I will be fine, but you will not be. If I lose you, I don't know if I will be able to go on_ , but instead he leaned his head out of the window and let the breeze of the cooling day cleanse his face. 

His wings throbbed painfully, just as they had every day for years now, and he pressed back into the seat in a vain attempt to stop the ache. Castiel knew exactly why his wings were hurting, and he knew that no amount of pressure from the leather seat of the Impala was going to ease the pain. Unfortunately, it went a little deeper than a superficial wound or itching from going without grooming for so long. 

Angels' wings pained them when they were near the truest loves of their lives. It was an old instinct that had apparently been geared in from the beginning; God's twisted way of saying that love was pain, or maybe that pain was love. No one really knew, since God had been out of the picture for quite some time now. The ache was supposed to alert angels to their mates, as many of them could be quite oblivious. Cas wasn't as oblivious as many angels and humans thought he was, and he hadn't needed the pain in his wings to tell him that he was in love with Dean. He just needed it to stop, because Dean Winchester wasn't exactly an option. 

He squirmed a bit more, rubbing the aching wing joint against the seams of the seat, and stopping awkwardly when he noticed Dean staring at him in the mirror. 

"You okay, buddy?"

Cas cleared his throat and nodded, trying to pull himself back together. "Of course, Dean." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He felt Dean's eyes on him for a few moments longer and breathed a sigh of relief when the hunter finally turned his attention back to the road.


	2. Shipper Angels and Agape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, more angst, a dose of my headcanon version of God (sober Chuck), Anna as a shipper angel, and Kevin, who is at the end of his wits here. Also, some stuff about Castiel that I think you'll all like :)

When they finally reached the bunker, Castiel didn't bother to open the door of the Impala, instead "zapping" himself, as Dean had termed it, directly into his bedroom. It was a sparsely furnished space -- a small, simple iron cot with a red bedspread in his favorite shade, a nightstand with an oil lamp, and a desk piled high with sweet-smelling old tomes and Men of Letters files made up most of the room's decoration. 

He thrust out his wings with a soft groan, ruffling the jet black feathers in an attempt to get his joints into a less painful position. It helped only slightly and ended up causing most of the papers on his desk to flutter to the ground. Sighing, he knelt and collected the papers, then placed them back onto the desk and sat on the cot. 

Castiel didn't sleep, as angels traditionally refrained from it, but he did take part in a sort of deep meditation that allowed him to rest and communicate with other angels without using up quite as much energy. He tucked in his wings and lay back until his body was flush with the bed, stretching and adjusting slightly, then turned on his angel radio. 

Voices blended and combined, and he only listened for a minute, but Castiel heard enough to understand that the angels were relatively safe for now. He sighed in relief and switched off the radio, then turned his head slightly to the side and prepared to go deeper into meditation. 

Abruptly, his bedroom door swung open and hit the wall with a deafening crash. Castiel sat up in bed quickly to see Kevin come into the room, breathing heavily and looking exhausted. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple, his nose and eyes were slightly red, and his hair was a disaster, little black points sticking up everywhere on his head. Castiel's brows drew together in concern and he opened his mouth to speak before Kevin cut him off. 

"Castiel, I'm really sorry to do this, and I hate to get so personal," he said, looking frantic, "but I can't take this anymore. The angels have been talking about you and Dean for as long as I've been able to hear them, and that was around the time I got my official prophet badge without signing up for it. They've been trying to get through to you, but apparently you're not listening. So I'm here to tell you that you need to just...you know...have sex with Dean already." He blushed and said quickly, "Sorry, that came a little wrong. You need to tell him how you feel. Because I can't listen to the whole profound-bond, last-time-somebody-looked-at-me-like-that-I-got-laid, Dean-kept-his-trenchcoat meta-writing shipper angels anymore. I really can't. And they can hear parts of what you feel too -- I think it has to do with strong emotions being broadcast easily -- so they know it's not just in their heads." Kevin cocked his head to the side for a moment, then added, "Oh, and they want me to tell you that it's not against the rules, whatever that means. Something about the rules in heaven having changed a lot since you've been there."

Castiel was still in bed, speechless. Kevin looked at his pale face, shook his head, and sighed. 

"Sorry again. This is all still so surreal. Talking to angels and getting visions and stuff, I mean. And to have angels pestering me to get one of their own to go tell some guy how he feels about him?" He laughed awkwardly. "Weird as hell."

Castiel blinked slowly, still in a stupor caused half by grogginess and half by shock. The angels knew about his feelings for Dean? And they accepted him? Things surely had changed a great deal while he had been away from heaven. He wondered if it was something close to what was currently happening on Earth, a great movement to eradicate discrimination and love all beings equally that was starting to gain momentum, or whether it was just what humans called a fluke.

Optimistically, he decided that it was the former, and opened his mouth to thank Kevin, then closed it quickly again. Perhaps this was just a trick, something perpetrated by Lucifer in order to drag him down even farther in the eyes of the angels. He peered at Kevin suspiciously, then remembered that Lucifer was still stuck in the cage. Crowley, then?

Kevin saw the look in his eyes and seemed to interpret it correctly. He sighed heavily and said, "Look, Castiel, if you don't believe me, you should check angel radio for yourself. Trust me, you'll catch it if you listen for more than ten seconds." He gestured to the chair next to the desk while running a hand through his hair. "You mind if I sit down? I haven't been sleeping very well."

Castiel nodded. "Yes, of course, go ahead." He watched Kevin sink into the chair, then said, "I'm going to check the radio now."

Kevin bobbed his head exhaustedly and put it down onto the desk. 

Castiel took a deep breath and leaned back into the bed again, then tentatively switched on the radio. This time, he listened a little bit harder, but attempting to sort the mess of voices into some sort of coherency was as difficult as separating grains of sand on a beach. He caught snatches of conversation about the leviathans, a demon deal in the Midwest, something concerning Naomi, and then a female angel's voice mentioned his name. 

He focused on that scrap of sound and carefully teased the fragment of conversation free from the others until it was all he could hear.  
"Castiel? Can you hear me? I've been calling you every day for a long time now. It's been quite a while since I spoke to someone who truly understood me." She laughed softly in Cas's head. "I sound like an adolescent on Earth. I apologize. All I meant to say was that -- well, I miss you. It has been very difficult in heaven, and sometimes I am afraid."

Castiel spoke back to her quietly. "Anna, it's me. I miss you too."

He could hear the surprise in her voice when she answered. "Castiel?"

"Yes, Anna. I'm here. I apologize myself for not speaking to you for such a long time. I've been very busy."

"I understand," she said. There was a brief moment of silence, then, "Castiel, there's something I must tell you. The angels have received new laws from God concerning our conduct."

"God has spoken again?" He was stunned beyond belief. Years spent searching for Him, and God had chosen now to speak to the angels again?

"Yes!" She opened her mind to Castiel, allowing him to see a snippet of God. It began with a short man with messy hair and bags under his eyes standing in one of Heaven's amphitheaters. Cas squinted in confusion. The man's dirty plaid shirt and jeans didn't exactly blend with the shining robes in which the angels were garbed and the marble-and-gold splendor of the amphitheater. 

The man onstage took a deep breath and leaned toward a solitary microphone positioned in the middle of the stage. "Hi." 

An awkward silence stretched out for a few minutes as the man looked out over the crowd, then finally continued, "I'm really sorry for the way I've acted. I thought for a long time that I just couldn't do all of this -" he gestured wildly with his arms "- anymore. So I left, and when the Winchesters found me, I told them I was a prophet and kept trying to avoid everything. And that was wrong. I know that now. You can't just abandon something because you're afraid of how it'll turn out or scared that you'll screw it up. The only thing that happens when you do that is that you miss the opportunity to see what it looks like when it's finished." He sighed. "Writing is hard, and so is creating. I've missed a lot of the stuff I was supposed to be here for, but I'm here now. I don't know if that matters, but I'm going to try again. I get the feeling it'll be difficult, but my creation is worth it. 

"Oh, and concerning the rules that I made a long time ago -- those were wrong too, and I haven't been ready to accept that. All of you should be free to make your own choices, as long as you stick to the whole Ten Commandments thing. Don't go coveting any oxen!" He laughed too close to the mike, then cleared his throat and stepped back. "Uh, you're free to love and spend time with whomever you want to, and that includes humanity. If you screw up, and you might, just do your best to make it right. Forgive each other and love each other, and, if you can, forgive and love me." 

He walked away from the microphone, then leaned back to say, "Oh, yeah, that's it."

For a moment, the amphitheater was silent, but then it exploded with applause. The marble pillars and golden filigree shook with the sound of thousands upon thousands of angels clapping, and God smiled. 

Anna gently pushed Castiel out of her mind and spoke again. 

"It is what He told the humans all those years ago, and it seems that He has finally seen fit to say the same to the angels." Her voice was light, but Castiel could hear the steel undertones in it. 

"Anna," he tried to soothe her, "perhaps it was something that he didn't think needed saying until now."

"I suppose so," she said with a sigh. "But more importantly, I think I speak on the behalf of everyone when I say that you and Dean need to take advantage of the whole "love whomever you please" thing as soon as possible."

"This isn't about me, Anna."

"Castiel, it's about all of us. However, the fact remains that you're the one of the few who has the chance to benefit from it right away. Please, you have the chance to show the angels that they have free will. We don't have to be slaves or enslavers -- we can be free. All the angels need is a catalyst."

"Anna," Cas said, exasperated. 

"Castiel," she replied with the same amount of frustration. "I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do, but from what we get over angel radio you've wanted this for a while. This is your opportunity to let gay love pierce through the veil of death and save the day."

There was an extraordinarily uncomfortable silence in which Castiel tried to figure out what the hell was going on. He had understood what Kevin was saying, while being very surprised by it, but now things were veering off into strange territory. Maybe even Winchester-brand-of-strange territory. 

Damn, he'd forgotten about Kevin. Castiel glanced over toward his desk, where Kevin was still slumped over and seemed to be snoring softly. He crossed the room quickly and placed a finger against Kevin's forehead in order to give him a light dose of angelic protection -- just enough to last him for a few nights of decent sleep. He paused for a moment, fingertips still resting on Kevin, and remembered the days in which all he had wanted was to protect humanity. It was still the only thing he wanted to do, but things had gotten so messy along the way that he was afraid he would never be able to carry out that goal. 

"Castiel?" Anna's voice rang impatiently in his head. 

He swallowed around a lump in his throat and uncomfortably patted Kevin's head, then responded to Anna. "I'm not a hero, Anna. I just wanted to help humanity, but instead I nearly destroyed their world on multiple occasions. I drove heaven to the brink of collapse. There's no reason to think that I'll be able to do any better with Dean, or anyone."

Anna sighed. "Castiel, you told Dean once that you were an angel, a warrior of God. The same self-hatred, guilt, and shame that you dislike in him is part of you. You both deserve a chance to heal that, don't you think?"

Castiel knew that Anna could feel the tangled mess of his emotions: fear, frustration, doubt, pain...it was one of the things about angel radio that was both a pro and a con. In heaven, secrets and privacy didn't exist. Another of the things he loved about Earth: it was possible to be alone. 

"I need some time, Anna. Someday, I may tell him."

"Of course, Castiel. Just...consider it, okay? Come talk to me sometime. And take care. You both deserve it."

"I promise I will, Anna," Castiel said, then cut the connection. He opened his eyes, and the details of the room came at him with a rush. Excruciatingly bright bulbs, sandpaper texture of the blanket under him, the smell of decades-old tobacco and more recent whiskey. He squeezed his eyes shut again. Everything on Earth always seemed so much rougher, if more real. 

When the pain behind his eyelids had dulled a little and he could open his eyes again, he checked the window. It was late; about three forty-two in the morning if he was reading the stars correctly, and he always did. 

Castiel wished that he could go back into meditation, but there was something he had almost forgotten to do. He had to check up on the Winchesters, since even the thought of neglecting that duty sent a twinge of guilt through him, so he swung his legs over the lip of the bed and made his way through the silent halls of the bunker. 

Sam was curled into a ball on his bed, shaking and whimpering slightly. Castiel felt deeply for him; he knew how destructive and manipulative Lucifer could be. He crossed the room and laid a hand against Sam's sweat-soaked chest, drawing the poison out of him. Black smoke twined around his fingers and sank into his skin. Castiel gasped slightly at the sting and drew away slowly. The stench of hell permeated his being, and he knew that he would pay a high price for lifting Sam's burden, but it didn't matter. Castiel couldn't take away every memory that Sam had of hell, but he owed it to Sam to take everything that he could. 

He didn't love Sam the same way that he loved Dean, but he did love him deeply. The best way to put it was that his love for Sam was philos, the biblical term for brotherly love, while his love for Dean was agape, the term for an all-encompassing spiritual love. Castiel loved Sam as much as he loved his angelic brethren, and in the same fashion. 

He glanced around to see if there was anything else he could do, and snapped up a glass of water for Sam when he woke up. Then Castiel slipped out of Sam's room and walked further down the hall until he reached Dean's room. 

Castiel had spent so many nights watching over Dean, whether from afar or nearby, that sometimes he didn't feel right if the sun set and he didn't know whether Dean was okay. He told himself that it had nothing to do with what he and Anna had talked about at all as he silently tugged open the door to Dean's bedroom.

The room was small and cramped, just as Castiel's was, but Dean had added some homey touches to his space. There were the photos on the desk of his mother and Sam, the knives and ceremonial swords proudly displayed on the walls, and of course the Busty Asian Beauties posters carefully arranged just above Dean's headboard. Castiel stepped inside the room tentatively and peeked at the cot. 

The hunter himself was sprawled out over his bed, one arm draped over the edge of the cheap wooden bed frame. Sheets and blankets tangled around his legs, which were still clad in denim, and his t-shirted torso was exposed. For once, Dean's skin wasn't flushed with the tint of whiskey, nightmares, or sleeplessness. Instead, he looked incredibly peaceful and happy. 

Castiel stepped closer until he could see Dean's eyelashes defined against his freckles and the way his hair curled slightly at the tips of his ears. His wings began throbbing again, and he let out an annoyed sigh before settling into the pain. 

He briefly considered waking Dean, but changed his mind almost immediately and decided to stay where he was, just barely a foot away from the bed with both feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor. Today wasn't a day for flying. It was a day for staying solidly on the earth. 

Castiel stood at the edge of Dean's bed for three hours, more starstruck than he had ever been while learning the names of each star in heaven, and considered. He thought about human frailty, how the rise and fall of Dean's chest wasn't infinite at all, but instead the trees planted around the bunker would probably outlive him, and how painfully unfair that was. 

He thought about how humans in love never really enjoyed what came after the so-called honeymoon phase, and how the sweetest part of it was the fall. He wondered if it would be the same with Dean, and dismissed the idea quickly. The left side of his chest ached dully when he realized that Dean would be dead of old age (if they were lucky) before the honeymoon phase had worn off for him. 

He thought about how that didn't matter at all, how he would take whatever Dean could give him and give Dean everything Dean would take. 

He thought about courage, about David and Goliath, and about how that was a silly metaphor because admitting his love for Dean wasn't anywhere near as important as a man of God defeating a nation in the Lord's name. 

He thought about how it was far more important. 

Castiel decided to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's commented so far! This fic was really hard to write, and I appreciate the feedback :).


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Full of fluff and love. Thanks to everyone who read it!

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the rickety floor beneath him creaked suddenly. In the span of a second, the sleeping form twisted and moved into a blur that resolved itself into Dean standing in front of Cas, gun in hand and steely eyes fixed on him. When Dean realized who it was, he breathed a sigh of irritated relief and relaxed his shoulders. 

"What the hell, man?!" he said, putting the safety back onto his gun and tucking it into the space between his thrift store jeans and his hipbone. Not that Cas noticed. "I could've hurt you!" 

Castiel was sure that he imagined the blush that came over Dean's face as he turned away from Cas and busied himself with adjusting the blanket on his bed. But if he didn't...he supposed that now would be a good time to "make his move." 

"I am sorry, Dean," Castiel rumbled, feeling the words shake his chest slightly, "both for waking you and for what I am about to do."

He leaned forward and saw green eyes widen in shock, so he closed his own tightly. He did not wish to see the moment at which his friendship with Dean would shatter and fall clumsily to the floor. If he had to do this blindly, he would. 

The first brush of their lips together was awkward, of course. It was an inexperienced multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent barely contained inside the body of a devout man kissing another man who was far better with the inner workings of guns than people, so it ended up being more like a delicate peck on the lips followed by Cas's mouth sliding along Dean's jaw than a real kiss. 

So Castiel pulled back, opened his eyes, ran a hand over his mouth, and tried again. 

This time around it worked a little better. Dean's eyes were still closed, but that was okay. That meant that Cas got to watch the flutter of his eyelashes caught in the thin beam of morning sunlight that shone through the slats of the blinds on the window as he kissed Dean firmly. That meant that Cas got to watch the tension slowly dissolve from Dean's face as he leaned into the kiss, that he got to see the minute shiver that traced goosebumps over Dean's neck. That meant that he got to see as well as hear the hitched gasp that Dean let out when Cas licked at his bottom lip. 

Dean moaned shakily into Cas's mouth and staggered backward, hip bumping against the edge of the desk beside his bed. Cas sucked aggressively at Dean's lip and shoved him harder against the cheap wood. Dean melted further into Cas, and suddenly it was a day for flying. 

Then there was a clumsy maneuver where Dean leaned forward and Cas leaned down, Dean stepped on Cas's foot, and their heads bumped together uncomfortably. They pulled apart with mutual grunts of pain. Dean stumbled slightly and sat down heavily on the desk, while Cas stepped back and swallowed tightly. 

Cas felt more afraid than he had ever been in his life. Facing Dean Winchester was worse than taking on Raphael, worse than Naomi, worse than the Leviathans. Perhaps, he reflected, it was because Dean was the only one with the power to truly rip him apart. His body tensed up as Dean finally lifted his head, lips slightly swollen and hair still messy from sleep. Cas's heart skipped a beat, although he knew that the feeling was only an involuntary reflex caused by the panic that had risen in his chest, and Dean opened his mouth to speak. 

Dean grinned ruefully. "So maybe we take things a little slower?"

And Castiel felt his heart break, if only because he hadn't acted sooner, if only because he hadn't realized that the fire in those green eyes wasn't just bloodlust, if only because it was finally Dean saying those words to him. Some of it must have showed on his face, because Dean stood up and walked over to him, looking concerned. 

"Hey, man, don't feel bad about it. We've got our whole lives to get the kissing thing down." He tugged at Cas's arm. "Come on, I'll make you some pancakes."

Castiel allowed himself to be pulled forward, still in a state of mild shock, for a few minutes before what Dean had said processed. "Dean...I don't eat." 

Dean's shoulders fell and he turned with a look on his face that Cas recognized as his 'I fucked everything up again, just like I always do' look. Hastily, Cas added, "But I would be glad to taste some of your pancakes, if you'd like." Dean's smile returned, Cas could breathe again, and they made it to the kitchen without further catastrophe. 

Cas settled into one of the high barstools near the long stainless steel countertop as Dean pulled ingredients haphazardly out of cabinets. A few minutes of companionable silence passed, and Dean assembled a small mountain of ingredients next to a large metal bowl. Castiel watched him move sleepily around the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes or running a hand through his mussed hair, in dazed happiness. The rest of our lives kept running through his head, and in some way he could see the rest of his life in a way he'd never been able to visualize before in that spacious kitchen. 

As Dean pulled milk out of the refrigerator, Castiel could see him doing it in twenty, thirty, forty years, old and wizened but with that same indefatigable smile on his face. He could see himself bringing Dean breakfast in bed and binge-watching television and movies with him until he understood every last reference. He could see hunting with Dean and nearly ruining the whole job by cracking stupid jokes and jabbing each other in the ribs. He could see Dean teaching him the lyrics to classic rock and singing along in the Impala to it, teaching Dean scraps of Enochian in return, the good days filled with laughter and kissing and comfortable messes, the bad days that would still be good because he was lucky enough to have Dean, maybe even kids one day. It wouldn't be any white-picket-fence life, but that was perfectly fine, because there were a million more breakfasts at sunrises with Dean to come. 

His heart felt as if it would burst out of his chest, and he thought Is this enough for a catalyst, Anna? Because it feels like it's enough to tear heaven apart and put it back together atom by atom./>

At the counter, Dean spun to examine the untidy heap of food items in front of himself and nodded approvingly at the flour and eggs. He pulled out a big cast iron skillet and set it onto the stove, then turned to Cas. 

"Cas! Get your ass ov--" Dean cut off when he saw how intently Cas was staring at him. "What're you thinking about?"

Cas smiled and considered for a moment, before deciding that he might as well say it now, since he was going to want to say it every time he saw Dean for the rest of his life. "Olani hoath ol."

Dean looked confused for a moment. "What does that mean?"

Castiel bit his lip, then met Dean's eyes and translated softly, "It means 'I love you' in Enochian." He didn't tell Dean that the connotation of the phrase was somewhere more along the lines of "I would rip apart galaxies for you, but I am content to spend the rest of my days next to the star that you are." 

Dean's eyes widened to the size of pie plates (a comparison he probably would like). "Oh. Oh.\>"

And suddenly Dean wasn't making a mess with pancake ingredients anymore, but instead kissing Cas everywhere he could reach with Cas perched on the stool and whispering olani hoath ol into Cas's legs and hips and chest and shoulders and Cas was falling off the stool and into Dean's arms until they were both pressed against the steel counter...

Until a loud crash announced the presence of the moose in flannel pajama bottoms and a Stanford College t-shirt who had just knocked a mug off the counter and onto the floor, where it currently lay in ceramic pieces. 

"Sorry guys, I just wanted some coffee," Sam groaned, tousled hair standing on edge. Dean stepped away from Cas hurriedly, and Cas felt the old familiar ache of not being wanted before Dean seemed to reconsider and rolled his eyes at Sam, then leaned in to kiss Cas again. Castiel felt something warm and comforting expand in his chest, and he smiled against Dean's mouth before they pulled apart and Dean linked hands with him. 

"Like, I'm really happy that you managed to man up and everything, Dean," Sam continued, pushing another mug under the coffee maker and kneeling to pick up the pieces of the one he'd shattered, "but maybe not in the kitchen at seven in the morning? Just a thought."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said with a smirk. 

"Jerk," Sam fired back. He dropped the mess into the trash can, then noticed the mess on the counter. "You makin' pancakes?"

"You bet your ass I am," Dean replied. "Cas here is gonna be my taste-tester." He squeezed Cas's hand, and Cas grinned. 

"Just as long as you're not taste-testing anything else," Sam muttered. Dean rolled his eyes and Sam said, "I'll go see if Kevin's up and leave you two lovebirds alone."

Sam left with coffee in hand and Dean pulled Cas over to the mixing bowl, then tossed him a whisk. "Pay attention, because you're about to witness the greatest food miracle to ever exist." He dumped the flour and salt into the bowl and mixed them with his own whisk, then pulled over another bowl.

"I used to make Sammy these pancakes when he was little, and he would almost cry every time he tasted them. Well, that might be because he was so glad it wasn't macaroni," Dean said with a grin. He handed Cas the milk and said, "Here, measure it out like this-" he wrapped his arms around Cas's shoulders and guided his hands to pour the milk into the cup "-and then you just...you know, pour it in there." With a deft flick of his wrist, Dean tipped the cup that Cas was holding over the bowl sideways and spilled the milk into the bowl. 

Cas turned in his arms and smiled at him, and Dean quickly kissed him on the forehead, pulling back with a dazed expression, then gently let go of Cas to grab the eggs. 

"God, I am so lucky," Dean said, cracking eggs on the edge of the bowl and whisking them lightly. He poured the eggs and milk into the flour and mixed that before switching on the gas stove, which lit with a puff of blue flame. "I am so incredibly lucky." His voice went hoarse, and Cas kissed him again, stilling the hands that tried to grab the spatula. 

He pulled back slowly, forcing Dean to maintain eye contact with him. "Dean, we're both very fortunate. We have each other." 

For once, Dean didn't try to counter with self-loathing, whiskey, or denial. Instead, he blushed (Dear Father, Castiel loved the curve of his cheekbones and the shade of his flushed cheeks) and picked up the spatula from the counter. "C'mere so I can show you how to make these things." 

Castiel pretended to be confused and said, "Dean, I am already here. How much closer do you want me?"

Dean scooped up a dab of pancake batter and stretched out a hand to brush it onto Castiel's nose. "How about close enough for me to kiss that off?" He looked panicked for a minute, and added quickly, "I mean, if that's cool with you and everything and-" Cas cut him off by half-tackling him, and Dean kissed the batter away achingly slowly while Cas shivered below him. Trust it to Dean Winchester to take something as innocuous as pancake batter and turn it as filthy as the whore of Babylon. 

When Sam and Kevin got back into the kitchen, Dean and Castiel were giggling and shoving each other around the kitchen, interspersed with some gratuitous making out. By some miracle of heaven above, the pancakes hadn't been burned to a crisp, but were instead lying golden-brown and warm on a platter. Kevin reached around Cas and Dean's epic lip lock to grab three of them and stack them onto a plate while muttering, "Thank God." Sam pulled the syrup out of the fridge and drenched his pancakes, then settled at the table and began stuffing himself. 

It was somewhere around the time that Sam, Dean, and Kevin were all seated around the table in a hazy state stuffed so full of pancakes that whipped cream and strawberry syrup ran in their veins instead of blood, and Castiel smiled a real smile while exchanging puns with them, that he started calling the bunker home.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Maddie, lequeenofmoondoor on tumblr, for her invaluable beta help. And to mundanecas (sorry I don't know your name yet!), I hope this lives up to your angsty standards so far. I promise that fluff is coming.


End file.
